Dax nodded, her eyes closed. Chapel adjusted the bed, raising the mattress beneath Dax’s legs. After a moment, Dax seemed to breathe easier. Chapel took the Trill’s hand between hers in a comforting gesture, noting Dax’s palm was warmer than before. She tried to slide one hand down to Dax’s wrist, but she didn’t get away with her ploy to check her pulse. Dax pulled her hand away and held her abdomen, which she rubbed gently the way pregnant women often do, but her flat stomach probably ruled out that explanation.
“I’m fine, really.”
“Not very convincing under the circumstances.” Chapel leaned over Dax, looking at the sheen of sweat on her forehead but resisting the urge to place a hand across her brow.
Eyes still closed, Dax smirked grimly. “I suppose not.”
“Then tell me something. Anything.”
Dax took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened her eyes. She glanced around as if testing to see if her eyes still worked, then looked up at Chapel. “I feel better, thank you.”
“I’m a virtuoso at helping patients into bed. Mastered that in nursing school.”
“You’ve picked up Leonard’s sarcasm.” Dax said it with a smile.
“The point I was making is that you’re not letting me use my other skills. My doctor skills.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Then why bring me along? I don’t understand why.”
Dax closed her eyes and sighed. “A last resort.”
“Last resort? Leonard said this wasn’t life threatening.”
“I may have misled him a little.”
“Why? I thought you two were old friends.”
“We are. But it’s complicated.”
Chapel held up a hand. “That’s between you two.”
“No,” Dax said, laughing. “I just meant because of Trill customs I couldn’t be completely honest with him.”
“Then we’re right back where we started, aren’t we?” Chapel folded her arms across her chest. “But if I’m going to be your last resort, I’ll need some details before it’s too late for me to do anything.”
Dax stared back at Chapel for a few moments before saying, “Help me up.”
“I’d prefer you stay in bed for now.”
Dax was fumbling around on the bed, finding it difficult to maneuver with her legs raised. “I just want to sit up.”
Chapel nodded and lowered the foot of the bed, then put a hand behind the Trill’s back to ease her upright.
“Thanks.” Dax paused. She turned and hung her legs over the side of the bed. “The condition I’m suffering from is easy to treat, so I told Leonard it was nothing serious. But I didn’t tell him that it’s usually found in Trill much older than I am and that the symptoms have progressed much faster than normal. Left untreated, this simple condition can even be fatal.”
Chapel frowned. A patient who couldn’t be open and honest with her doctor was a challenge under the best of circumstances. As things stood now . . .
“But don’t worry,” said Dax, probably reacting to Chapel’s expression. “We’ll make it to the Troyval long before that becomes an issue.” Dax winced briefly, then again rubbed her abdomen. “Still, with this last . . . spell, it might be best to update them.”
Chapel shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we’re having some technical problems. We can’t contact the Enterprise or the Troyval.”
Dax looked a little concerned, but she shrugged and sat up straighter. “Well, the pain has passed for now. I’ll be fine as soon as we make the rendezvous.”
“I’d still like to prepare for other possibilities. What if the Troyval is delayed?”
“And what if the Troyval is early? There’s nothing to be done but wait and see what happens.”
Chapel slumped back into the jump seat opposite the bed. “All right, I’ll let that go, for now. But I’ve got another question. Knowing Leonard the way I do, I’m sure he would have wanted to be with you whether Spock was aboard or not.”
Dax shook her head, a discreet smile on her face. “Leonard knew a relative of mine long ago. It’s not something Trill discuss. I felt it was best another doctor accompany me. He wasn’t happy about that, as you can probably imagine.”
Curiouser and curiouser, Chapel thought. Between Trill medical privacy and whatever McCoy was keeping to himself, there seemed to be no way for her to get a handle on the situation.
Dax swung her dangling legs around, looking like a nervous child in a chair. “I know this may be out of line given how unforthcoming I’ve been, but there’s something personal I’d like to ask you.”
Chapel couldn’t help herself—she started giggling. She waved a hand at Dax, who was looking at her uncertainly. “I’m not laughing at you.” She giggled some more, then caught her breath for a moment. “Well, maybe I am a little.”
Now Dax joined her, chuckling with a bit more reserve. “I’ll admit I had that coming.”
Chapel’s fit of laughter was winding down. “Oh, all right, why not. What’s the question?”
Dax shook her head. “Not now, when we’re laughing. It’s serious.”
“You’re not going to leave me wondering about this, I’m already too much in the dark. Come on, if we can’t talk about your symptoms, we’ve got to talk about something.”
Dax hesitated for a few seconds, then stopped swinging her legs. “It’s nothing major, I hope. There seemed to be some tension between you and Leonard, and I’m concerned I could have complicated the situation.”
Chapel leaned back and thought how to respond. She wasn’t surprised that Dax had noticed. McCoy was an open book when it came to his feelings: They were all there on his expressive, grumpy face. And Chapel couldn’t help but think that being candid with Dax might get the Trill to open up about some of her secrets so Chapel could treat her.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s simple, really, and kind of silly sometimes, like the business about not knocking. I served as his nurse for years before I became a doctor, and those old habits are hard to break—for both of us. He’s still my superior officer, but there are times when it feels like nothing has changed, and insecurities I thought I’d left behind . . . Well, since he returned to active duty, I’ve started to consider if remaining aboard the Enterprise is what’s best for my career. Which is sad to think about, because I love that ship and crew. They’ve both carried me through some rough times. The crew is like family to me.”
It might have started as a ploy to gain Dax’s trust, but it had all been sincere, and by the end Chapel was surprised how emotional she felt. The crew is like family to me? Who am I kidding, they are my family. I see Mom and Dad so rarely, and Uhura is the sister I never had. Leonard is both doting father and annoying older brother. And Spock . . . Spock is still in a special place all by himself. If I ever leave them, it will be the hardest decision I’ve made since I left Earth. Chapel had put aside a promising career in bioresearch to wander among the stars on the minuscule chance of finding her fiancé, Doctor Roger Korby, who was lost on a deep-space archaeological expedition. She’d ended up on the Enterprise and they found Roger on Exo III—but it was an android copy; the real Roger was already dead. Chapel had found her fiancé only to lose him again; she had watched him come to the realization that he was no longer human, inside or outside. But I didn’t just watch . . . I helped him understand he had lost his soul, and then I saw him destroy himself and another android because of it. Captain Kirk had offered her a transfer if she wanted it, but she stayed with the Enterprise. Going back to bioresearch, the field that had led to her meeting Roger, had no appeal. But her work on the Enterprise, although rewarding, came with a nomadic lifestyle that had its own compromises. As the years passed, starting a family of her own—hell, just having a relationship—seemed less likely. With a wistful smile, she looked toward the commissioner.
Judging by Dax’s fa
raway look, Chapel had gotten her thinking about difficult decisions in her own past. As Dax’s expression shifted from reflective to melancholy, Chapel knew she couldn’t leave her patient’s side. She didn’t know what to say to the intensely private woman, but Dax broke the pensive silence.
“Do you have any children?”
It’s like she read my mind, thought Chapel. And for someone so private, she sure goes right to the thorny questions. Don’t the Trill have small talk? “No, I don’t. I was engaged once, but I lost him. He died on a research expedition.”
Dax nodded slowly. “I lost my husband, Jayvin, ten years ago. We have two children, Neema and Gran—they’re both in their twenties now.” She took a deep breath, then turned to look Chapel in the eye. “Neema was only fourteen at the time of Jayvin’s death, and I spared her the grim details. A few years ago she managed to find a full account of Jayvin’s final assignment. She hasn’t spoken to me since learning the extent of my omissions.”
“I’m so sorry.” Chapel recalled that Spock and his father had not spoken for eighteen years after Spock entered Starfleet Academy. “I’m sure she’ll come around. Have you tried reaching out to her?”
“We had a few awkward attempts at conversation at first but then silence. She’s always been a stubborn one. And I’ve found the whole painful situation easier to ignore, to pretend it’s not there. It’s something we Trill are good at.”
Chapel didn’t know how to respond to that, and the way Dax now gazed down at her hands folded in her lap, it seemed obvious that she wasn’t waiting for her doctor’s advice. Chapel got up from the jump seat and stretched. “I’m going to check in with Commander Spock. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”
Dax nodded silently and lay back down. Chapel went forward to the cockpit, pausing briefly after the door slid shut behind her to compose herself. Spock may have been more open to his own emotions now, but that didn’t mean Chapel wanted him to see her feeling depressed. What she needed now was a good dose of old, distant Spock. She took the few steps to the copilot’s seat before he noticed her hesitation.
He turned toward her as she settled in and then looked through the forward port. “Is the commissioner all right?”
“For now. Her pain passed quickly, but I can only hope her condition remains stable. I’m trying to get through to her. I feel as useful as ballast on a spaceship.” Turning from the distorted star field of warp space, she looked across at Spock. “How’s our situation?”
“Our situation?” Spock raised an eyebrow and looked at her blankly for a second or two. “Could you clarify the question?”
Chapel kept from rolling her eyes. She needed old Spock, but apparently she was getting new Spock. “Communications status, I mean.”
“Of course.” The Vulcan turned quickly toward his control panel, as if to cover his confusion. “I am running one last test to rule out natural phenomena. If this is technological jamming, it must be a relatively new technique. The Enterprise’s computers could have parsed this in a fraction of the time, but, unfortunately, we don’t have those resources at hand.”
Chapel slumped in her chair. All this uncertainty was wearing her down. “I was hoping for good news.”
“That would be the preferable outcome of my diagnostics, but I am not optimistic at this point. I have begun contemplating contingency plans.”
They fell into a worried silence. At least worried on Chapel’s end; she was unsure what Spock felt, although he did appear . . . discomfited. He resettled himself in his seat and then tugged a bit on his uniform, adjusting the collar. She almost never thought of the current uniforms as new anymore. She’d been wearing hers for well over two years. But Spock had left Starfleet after the five-year mission. When he’d boarded the Enterprise en route to V’ger he’d been wearing Vulcan civilian clothes. In the months since, she still half expected to find him wearing the old blue tunic and black pants, and perhaps that’s what he would prefer. She was just about to ask him about it when he spun abruptly toward her. She almost flinched, and he appeared slightly surprised himself. After an awkward moment of each looking at the other expectantly, he finally spoke.
“Doctor, I must ask you: Since my encounter with V’ger, have you ever felt . . . uncomfortable in my presence?”
“You mean before right now?” At his sharply raised eyebrow she changed her tone quickly. “I’m sorry. And after I told you I didn’t want any teasing. You just surprised me, is all.” She swiveled her seat toward his. “No, I haven’t. I knew you were going through a lot, and I wanted to do whatever I could to make it easier for you. And if letting you go through it alone was what you wanted—and that’s what it seemed like to me—then I was ready to do that.”
He nodded, steepling his fingers in front of him, looking as if he were pondering the scientific mysteries of the universe. Finally, he looked back at her. “Earlier, I implied that the captain assigned me to this mission. While that is true, he did so after I requested it. I wanted to spend time with you so that we could discuss my developing emotions.”
“Of course. But why bring it up again after so many months? I’d assumed we were settled on this.”
“As did I. But as I have continued integrating emotions into my life, I have noticed I sometimes feel . . . awkward around you.” He leaned forward. “To clarify, I do not mean that I have inappropriate feelings for you, but I must admit that I do not completely understand the situation. Any insight you could provide . . .”
She gazed warmly at Spock. “Well, first I have to ask: Why exactly do you think feelings for me would be ‘inappropriate’?” This time both of Spock’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Chapel laughed at his expression but quickly explained: “I’m sorry I laughed, but I’m not teasing you, really. We’ve been through so much together that even though we’ve developed a certain professional and personal friendship, a stray thought or some almost subconscious feeling outside the bounds we’ve set isn’t unusual.”
He lowered his eyebrows and nodded thoughtfully. “I see. As we have long established that we are, as the saying goes, just friends, I thought the demarcations of the relationship were more . . . precise. Could you elaborate?”
Only Spock could make this sound scientific. “Yes, we’re just friends, but we’ve shared experiences far more intimate than the average friendship. I bared my heart to you while infected with the Psi 2000 virus, and I’ve never regretted it.” The crew had been exposed to polywater, which broke down inhibitions, letting Chapel tell Spock her true feelings, something she never would have done otherwise. “And then there was what happened with Henoch. We never talked about sharing minds. Maybe it was too much for either of us.”
Spock went back to looking at his console, clearly embarrassed by the memory.
“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now. I only bring it up to show you that we don’t have a black-and-white friendship. We’ve gone into a gray area, and, given everything else you’ve been through, I’m not surprised if you have some confused feelings about me. You need to take your own advice: Worrying is always unnecessary. We’ll always be friends.”
Spock looked back up. “Thank you, Christine. That was—”
He was interrupted by a chime. Glancing at his console, he frowned. “This is disconcerting. I have confirmed that our communications are being jammed artificially.”
Just as Spock finished the sentence, weapons fire rocked the shuttlecraft.
Chapter 3
Chapel went airborne. As she landed, the inertial dampers caught up with the sharp jolt delivered to the Copernicus. She found herself on the deck with her back against the port-side hatch behind the pilot’s seat. She got up quickly as the shuttlecraft stabilized, the deck again feeling more like the floor than a wall. Alarms blared, and there was a faint smell of smoke and burning circuits in the air. She needed to check on Dax, but if the shuttle didn’t survive the next f
ew minutes, that would be moot. Starfleet doctors faced choices a civilian doctor never had to worry about.
Spock had kept his seat, his hands now a flurry of tapping across his panel. “We have dropped from warp. Shields down.”
Chapel hurried into the copilot’s seat. Through the forward port she caught a glimpse of movement, a dark ship larger than the Copernicus arcing away from them. “What can I do?”
“Monitor for overloads on secondary systems while I reroute power.”
She brought up a power display on the second attempt, glad she hadn’t had to ask Spock for help. Her knowledge of operations had faded during her years as a nurse, and being in the dark about what was going on during ship emergencies was a powerful incentive to take refresher courses. Even as she studied for her medical degree, Chapel had brushed up on all the new hardware. She didn’t want to feel lost on her own ship after the refit.
“Sensors and communications damaged.” Spock called out updates as he worked. “Engines off-line but powering back up.”
Only once in the next minute did an indicator go red-line, and Chapel was able to manage the situation on her own while Spock kept at the primary systems. Thirty seconds later, with a glance and a nod, Spock indicated she could go aft.
Chapel hurried. Dax had been alone for two minutes since the attack. At first the door to the cabin didn’t open, and she nearly collided with it. With a sinking feeling she checked cabin pressure and was relieved to see a nominal reading. She tapped in an override code and the door slid open. Rushing through, she found Dax on the deck, tangled in the bedclothes, pale and trembling.
“Commissioner, what’s wrong?” Chapel kneeled beside Dax and grabbed one of her hands, which now felt warmer than a human’s.
Dax mumbled an unintelligible response without opening her eyes. Chapel doubted the Trill knew she was talking out loud. After a moment of silence—Spock had finally shut off the alarms—Dax spoke again, and this time Chapel thought it was in a Trill language. Then, very clearly, she said, “No, no.”
Star Trek: The Original Series: The More Things Change Page 2